


expanse

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: In which Nekoma made it to the Interhigh Nationals and face Inarizaki, and Osamu finds he's not the only one who knows the quiet.





	expanse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 1: AUs | [originally posted here](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=10487570#cmt10487570)

This is the first thing; the quiet.

 _Hey, Tsumu,_ he'd said, when Nekoma called their first time out, the scoreline a neck and neck affair too close to comfort for Osamu's liking, and he saw them, gathered tight around their unlikely number 5.

Atsumu had turned with an eyebrow arched, _what now, samu_ unspoken in his countenance, and Osamu's gaze flicked over to the other side of the gym, lingered.

There are times he has the words, eloquent enough at his disposal, but chooses silence. They happen more often than people assume. This is one of them.

Atsumu's lip twists into a pretty smirk.

Osamu picks up his towel from the bench and wipes the sweat off his brow. He's going to need his head as cool as he can get it, because Atsumu can never resist a challenge from other setters, and—

Atsumu stretches out a hand. He flicks the ends of Osamu's towel into his face, grinning in the same way he always does when he steals Osamu's clothes, and then so magnanimously returns them.

"Watch out, 'k?" is all he says.

Osamu narrows his eyes at him, but he's already turned to pester Alan and Suna about their next plan of attack. His voice is gilt-edged bright and carries for what feels like _miles_ ; or maybe, it's just to Osamu that it sounds that way.

Inarizaki is no stranger to the Nationals. Neither are the twins. They have been on this stage before, and Osamu is not nervous, isn't the sort to be, for every court is the same once they step out on it, and so is every second of this quiet that he's learned to wield, unbreaking. In his hands, it becomes a weapon, equal parts blunt and graceful.

He has never seen anyone else hold it as close as he does.

Nekoma's huddle breaks up with another round of that chant of theirs. There's one voice conspicuously lower than the rest, nearly inaudible. Osamu makes himself look down and away as he takes a quick drink, sets down his bottle. The exhale he lets out is ragged. It is just a little bit quicker than it should be, a little bit off the beat that their cheer squad's set for them, and there is only one other person on his side of the net who's noticed. _Stupid Tsumu._

(Across the net, well, that's another story—)

He could swear Atsumu shoots him a knowing look from an impossible angle. He'd freely admit it too, if Osamu asked.

Osamu will not ask.

He will not ask now, either, what it is he is meant to _watch out_ for. Of course he isn't nervous. That goes without saying. The chatter around them rises, swells to a crescendo, and Osamu tips his head back, closes his eyes for the breadth of a stolen moment.

The whistle goes off. When they return to their positions, it's Osamu's serve.

He picks up the ball. Holds it careful and deliberate, reaches, reaches from within for the silence he's come to know so well, thought he'd made his own; and he is there too— _again_ —

Never quite encroaching. Always, always, on the periphery. But Osamu cannot ignore his presence the way he can ignore everyone who's loud, and louder.

His gaze is on Osamu, still and watchful, on the brink. This is no benign quiet.

This is the first thing, and the last that'll bring him down.


End file.
